


No One Can Make It Alone Anymore

by Phoenyx634



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Violence, Canonical Character Death, Daryl Dixon Needs to Use Actual Words, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/M, Lots of plot, Season 2, Season 3, Slow Burn, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-07-27 04:10:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20039719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoenyx634/pseuds/Phoenyx634
Summary: Daryl's in the woods and meets a woman with an odd way of dealing with problems.Death, drama and eventual romance/fluff ensues.(Minor) canon divergence from around mid-season 2, though major plot points are unchanged.





	1. Hunter

Daryl saw her for the first time on one of his hunts.

He was alone, in the woods surrounding Hershel's farm. Since the incident with Sofia and the barn, he'd felt the need to get away from the group. He needed to deal with things in his own way (mainly, trying his damnedest not to think about it). He preferred the silence of the woods, as he focused on tracking game and tried not to dwell on the sick knot in his stomach, reminding him of his own inadequacy. His failure.

He'd set out early that morning, before anyone else had risen (aside from Dale, keeping a vigil on the RV), and had covered a lot of ground since then. It was almost midday, and he was about as far from the farm as he had ever been on a day's hunt. He crouched down to have a break and refill his water bottle at the bank of a stream. After he had rested, he planned to begin the long trek back. He should be back at the farm before dark, even if he took his time. He had only five squirrels to show for the whole half-day's hunting. It seemed like all the bigger game had vacated the area for some reason, which was ominous. He trailed his fingers in the water leisurely, disturbing his reflection. He mused that he looked like he'd aged since three days ago. The ever-present frown played over his face as his thoughts turned dark again. He was just about to rise and start moving again, when he heard movement. Something was approaching through the trees. Instantly on alert, he grabbed his crossbow with one hand and searched for the source of the noise with sharp blue eyes.

She emerged out of the trees on a ridge parallel to the stream, about ten metres away from him, striding purposefully. Although he'd heard her movements, she was remarkably light-footed compared to most people. She seemed watchful and cautious, and he instinctively realised he had simply been lucky to spot her first. She walked with her right hand rested lightly on a holstered gun. He froze, conscious that any sudden moves would likely draw her gaze, then slowly leaned back behind a tree, screening himself from view among the low-hanging branches.

He rested his crossbow on the ground between his knees and peered through the leaves. She walked with a type of muscular grace, like she was ready to break into a sprint at a moment's notice, pausing occasionally to scan the treeline before continuing. It was hard to tell her age, but he estimated around late twenties. She was quite tall, tanned and slender... _lean_ was the best word to describe her. The leanness which comes from sparse meals, little rest and constant travelling on foot. Lean, but not starved; she was obviously capable of taking care of herself. Her light brown hair was tied in a no-nonsense knot at the back of her head, which turned often to the left and the right as she scanned her surroundings carefully. She wore a plain black tank top and cargo pants tucked into mud-stained, knee-high, lace-up leather boots. Around her forearms, she'd taped what looked like hockey shin-guards. On her hands, she wore fingerless leather riding gloves. Other than the gun on her belt, her other weapon was a sheath attached to her battered backpack, inside which was what looked like a long, curved, machete-like blade that had seen quite a bit of use. Alongside this, also attached to the her backpack, was a smallish, blood-splattered metal shield that tapered to a sharp point at one end.

Daryl's sharp eyes took in all of this as she passed his location. Moments later, she was gone, melted into the trees. He could hear her light steps fading away in the fallen dead leaves of the forest. He stood up, looking after her, and bit his lip. She was heading away from the farm; she wasn't a threat. Neither was she an ally. He should just ignore her and head back. But he was also curious - Where was she going? Was she alone? Perhaps she was scouting for a larger group, and had already seen the farm...?

He dithered for a few moments longer and then decided to follow her for a while, just for the hell of it. If she didn't show any signs of meeting up with a group... or turning back towards the farm... then he would leave her peace.

It was easy to follow her tracks, and he closed the gap just enough to keep her within sight. Every so often she would cast a glance around, and he would duck behind a tree or crouch down, out of her line of sight. Daryl started to feel a kind of primal thrill from the challenge of following her. It was the ultimate test of a hunter, to stalk quarry that was as just smart and as cautious as you were, in rough terrain. It was also a welcome distraction from all the recent heartache and anxiety. For the first time in a long time, he was not thinking about Rick gunning down Sofia in front of the barn, while Carol's world collapsed as she cried in his arms. He was thinking about his footsteps, anticipating her movements and copying her pauses.

For the first time in days, he was breathing again.


	2. Enemies

The woman walked with long, sure strides, but from her general bearing, Daryl thought that she hadn't been in this area before. His hypothesis was confirmed when she stopped, glanced about (Daryl got out of sight just in time) and got out a ragged-looking map from her bag, and a small compass. She spent a couple of minutes poring over it with a frown, turning the map around a few times. Daryl watched her with interest. From the level of frustration growing on her face, she didn't seem very good at reading maps.

Suddenly, the silence of the forest was broken by the unmistakable crack of a gunshot. The woman's head jerked up, instantly alert. Daryl shifted, eyes narrowed. Another loud shot rang out, and this time it was easier to pinpoint the direction. The trees muffled sounds, so the shooter must be nearby. The woman put away the map and compass with quick movements, shouldered the pack and headed, without hesitation, towards the sound of the gunshots. Her movements were ultra-tense, and she moved rapidly from tree to tree, all her attention focused on the source of the noise. Unable to help himself, Daryl followed, closing distance as much as he dared while her attention was to the front. He felt like he was hunting a hunter.

Daryl stopped as he saw her drop to her knees not ten metres ahead of him. He leaned against a broad trunk of a tree and looked cautiously around it. The ground was sloping downwards from where he was standing, concealed, giving him a near-perfect view of the woman, who crouched behind a fallen tree, and also of the people in the clearing, beyond her.

Four men in army fatigues stood in the clearing, next to a tent and a jeep. From the looks of their campfire and general debris, it would seem that they'd been there for a few days at least. A rough wood-cutters' road curved away into the trees on the far side of the camp, which, if Daryl's internal compass was right, would eventually lead back to the highway. Two walkers lay on the ground - evidently the reason behind the shots. Daryl shook his head at their stupidity - they'd wasted bullets_ and_ risked making noise and drawing more to their camp - over only _two_ walkers? By the looks of things, they were well-stocked on weapons, so maybe they were just overconfident. Daryl could see a stack of rifles leaning against the tent, and boxes of ammo strewn about. And all of the men were carrying handguns. There was an open box near the smouldering campfire, in which Daryl could see many tins and boxes of food. He suddenly became aware of his own empty stomach. On the open back of the jeep was more boxes, unopened.

Were these men from a military base? If they were, they were most likely defectors. That was the only likely explanation for four men who were clearly idiots who had so many weapons and supplies. They hadn't even set up a perimeter, and this was the worst possible campsite. As the woman and Daryl had already demonstrated, it was extremely easy to sneak up on them.

The men seemed pretty relaxed, overconfident even, swaggering about the bodies of the walkers and laughing. If it wasn't for their arsenal of weapons, he'd march right in there and steal their jeep before they knew what was happening. He imagined the look on Rick and the others' faces when he drove up with all those supplies... but it was stupid to imagine the impossible...

Suddenly, the woman caught Daryl's eye. She, like him, had been surveying the scene below them, motionless, but now she was moving. He stared. What was she...?

Still crouching down in her hiding place, the woman was checking the number of bullets in her gun clip. She seemed dissatisfied, pursing her lips.

Daryl was confused. Surely she wasn't thinking of taking them on?!

Coming to some sort of decision, she removed her backpack and arm-guards with deft movements. She then removed the blade and shield from the backpack, and emptied half of the contents of the bag onto the ground, stacking everything neatly against the fallen tree. It was mainly a few tins and some items of clothing, and a tin bowl and water-bottle. She patted the slack backpack, satisfying herself that it looked almost empty. Most bizarrely of all, she then pulled her hair loose, so that it fell in straggly waves to just past her shoulders. Lastly, and most reluctantly, she unhooked her gun, holster and all, from her belt, and laid it on the pile of the other things, with fingers that were a little shaky. She pulled the bottoms of her trousers out of the tops of her lace-up boots so that the tattered ends would drag on the ground under her heels as she walked. Then she pulled her belt slightly looser so that her midriff was exposed. She was making herself look generally scruffier.

She took a few deep breaths, calming her nerves. Then, to Daryl's extreme shock, she stumbled out into the clearing, in full view of the men in the camp below.


	3. Actress

"Oh my God," sobbed the woman in a strong Georgian twang, as she stumbled into the camp. "Thank God I found y'all!" The soldiers were caught completely by surprise. "H-hey!" shouted the nearest and biggest man. He levelled his gun at her. "Stop right there!"

The woman stopped, swaying slightly, as if from hunger, or fatigue. She raised both her hands, cringing slightly. The men traded looks with raised eyebrows. She was clearly unarmed. The man didn't lower his gun. "Who are you?"

She gave a weak cough. Back on the ridge, a fly buzzed near Daryl and he remembered to close his mouth. She was putting on an act worthy of an Oscar, but did she really want help from these men...?

"Mah name's Sarah," she said in a wavering voice, "Please sir, I heard the gunshots an' I thought...I ... y'all're the first people I've seen in weeks, please..."

"You alone?" asked the man, and eyed her in a licentious way that instantly got Daryl's skin crawling. Clearly, the woman - _Sarah_, apparently - had also picked up on it. She took a small step back, holding up her hands nervously, "Yeah, it's just me... But I-"

One of the other men piped up, "You got a gun?"

Sarah shook her head vehemently, "Nah, I've never even _touched_ one o' those things."

The man closest to her finally lowered his gun, but the looks that he and the other three men were giving her were anything but friendly.

Sarah tucked her hair behind her ear and looked up at them from under her lashes, as if shy. "I'm sure such... such _gentlemen_ as yourselves could spare some food, maybe? Just a can or two would be more'n enough."

The man with the gun gave a nasty laugh. "Y'don't get somethin' for nothin' these days, sugar." His eyes raked her from head to toe. The other men gave approving nods.

Sarah's eyes flickered from one to the other. "Well then, I'll just be on mah way. It's your food." She turned slowly to leave, so that her back was to them, and her face was towards Daryl. Her expression seemed oddly blank and dark... kind of _chilling_. He was sure she hadn't had that expression when she'd been facing the other men...

The man lunged across and grabbed her arm roughly. To Daryl, it seemed like she'd been expecting it, but to them she again showed an expression of fear.

"No...!"

The man forced her back into the camp, and shoved her against the side of the jeep. She let herself be pushed, as if unable to fight back.

The man stuck his gun into his holster and leered at her. The other men stood where they were, watching, with grins.

"Y'all won't let me go?" she asked, voice suddenly quiet, arms limp at her sides. "Is there no way to resolve this... _peacefully_?"

The man snorted, "It's up to you whether it's _peaceful_ or not, sugar. I don't care either way though, personally." He started fumbling at her belt clasp.

Daryl's grip on his crossbow tightened. He couldn't just let this _happen_...

Sarah smiled. "Good lord, but you are just about the _dumbest motherfucker_ I've ever met." She said, conversationally. Her Georgian accent was gone- instead, her voice was clear and very precise. Her accent was not American - it sounded closer to British.

"Wha-" the man was cut off before he could finish his sentence, and there was a beat of silence in the clearing. Daryl narrowed his eyes.

Chaos erupted as the man gave a strangled cry of horrified shock and sank to the ground, the hilt of a knife visible in his chest.

The man's weight fell on her man fell almost immediately as his lungs drowned in blood, and the other three men finally realised what was happening. They jumped back, yelling and reaching for their weapons, fumbling. They weren't quick enough. Sarah reached a hand behind the dying man and drew the gun from his holster, firing three times in quick succession in the same, fluid movement. At that range, there was no way she could miss. It was three headshots, at impressive speed. Even if they'd managed to draw in time, she was using the body of the stabbed man as a shield. With a disgusted expression, she kicked him off of her.

In the aftermath of what had turned into a massacre, the silence in the clearing seemed strange. Daryl's heart raced as he stared around the trunk of the tree. The woman was still, standing over the four bodies as blood soaked into the dust. She checked the remaining rounds in the man's gun with practised ease, her expression unreadable. Daryl unthinkingly shifted his footing as his muscles relaxed, and a twig snapped loudly underfoot.

Sarah's head snapped up and so did the gun she held in her hand. Mentally cursing his stupidity, Daryl pressed himself back against the tree-trunk, praying she hadn't seen him. His heart-rate galloped. She would shoot him between the eyes before his bolt even left his crossbow. He hadn't taken a gun with him this morning, his first mistake...

Her boots crunched over the leaves as she strode closer to his hiding place, and he wracked his brain for a plan that wouldn't result in his immediate execution...

The footsteps stopped abruptly. "Huh." Sarah said.

Daryl chanced a glance around the other side of the tree. A walker was stumbling out of the trees to his right, moaning and grunting. He never thought he'd be so happy to see a walker. Sarah walked over to her bags and got her blade out of its sheath. She waited for the walker to come closer, then slashed it diagonally across the face, splitting its skull with relative ease. Still with the unsheathed blade in one hand, she stuffed the rest of her belongings into the backpack and took it down into the camp.

As she walked away, Daryl let out a breath, mouth dry.

He realised that it was quite late in the afternoon already- he had to get back if he didn't want to get caught in the woods after nightfall. He wondered where "Sarah" (-if that was her real name... he wouldn't be surprised if it wasn't-) would be when it got dark. By the speed at which she was packing food into her backpack, he doubted she would be staying here. He could return with some of the others and scavenge for supplies tomorrow. He watched her cautiously, wondering when he would be able to risk leaving his hiding-place and slip away unnoticed.

She suddenly stopped her packing activities, and sat down heavily on the crate in the centre of the clearing, as if exhausted. In her hands was a chocolate bar- she'd found it in the box of food. She slowly unwrapped the chocolate bar with trembling fingers, and then, bringing it to her face, inhaled the smell reverently. Daryl realised how hungry she must have been. Even though she was so strong and... well, _capable_ would be putting it mildly... She was alone, and it wasn't treating her very well. If he didn't have the group, if he was out on his own, would he end up like her?

He watched her take a bite of the chocolate and chew it with her eyes closed, a peaceful expression on her face.

The quiet moment was interrupted by the body of the stabbed man, which had begun to twitch. He was turning into a walker.


	4. Sarah

Sarah stopped chewing and watched the man she'd killed come back to life.

His white, dead eyes caught sight of her and he began dragging himself towards her, gaping mouth opening and closing like a monstrous fish, as his throat choked out garbled sounds. She looked from his gaping mouth, streaked with blood from her use of her knife (which still protruded from his chest) to the half-eaten chocolate bar in her hand. Suddenly the cloying sweetness seemed nauseating. She was just as bad as the walkers - no, worse. She _knew_ what she was doing; walkers just acted on instinct.

She'd killed before - self-defence, mainly, or in the heat of the moment - but this was different. She'd needed the food - desperately. But the chocolate in her hand suddenly seemed tainted.

"Here, you have it then." She said, with a hollow laugh, and jammed the sweet roughly into the walker's mouth. She stood up, feeling her thigh muscles ache from her many days of walking without rest. She stared at the walker for a few seconds, lost in dark thoughts, and then swung her blade once, ending it. For a moment she swayed on the spot, then she turned away and retched, sinking to her knees.

She didn't really have anything in her stomach to come up, but the parts of the chocolate that she'd swallowed did. Was it the violence of this latest altercation sinking in, or just that she was so hungry the richness of the sugar had overwhelmed her? Her eyes glazed over as she stared at the ground blankly, wiping her mouth. This world was rotten... but she must be one of the most rotten things in it. The scary part was how the killing was getting _easier._

_I'll do it again, _she realised,_ To survive a little longer, I'd do much worse._

"Hey!" called a male voice suddenly, shattering her reverie.

Her heart leapt into her throat and she stumbled to her feet, panicked and disorientated. She raised her gun, but didn't know where to point it... she wiped her mouth again self-consciously, cursing her moment of weakness. The forest was silent apart from the distant sounds of birds and leaves in the wind. She tried to think logically, but her panic had destroyed her sense of control. Every shadow behind every tree was hiding a man with a gun.

Perhaps death would come for her now, after all.

* * *

Behind his tree, Daryl bit his lip, regretting his reckless decision to call out.

He'd been unable to help himself. He _knew_ he should have just taken advantage of her distraction to leave - but her suddenly fragile figure had reminded him uncomfortably of Carol, kneeling in the dust outside the barn as Sofia emerged into the sunlight.

He couldn't justify staying hidden from a woman in a state like that. It had just burst out of him, almost involuntarily. But now that it was done, he was no coward. It was time to stop sneaking about.

He took a breath and stepped out from behind the tree, levelling his crossbow at her head. She pointed her gun at him, her arm rising a few seconds later than his. For a few moments, they stared at each other, sizing each other up.

* * *

Sarah stared with wide eyes at the man with the crossbow, completely taken aback. How long had he been there? How could she not have been aware of his presence? She tried to figure him out. What was his angle?

The most immediately striking thing about the man was the crossbow, and the ease at which he held it. He seemed like a crossbow himself, tensed and coiled like a spring, ready for whatever was thrown at him. His gaze was direct and unflinching, even though he _must_ have seen what she'd just done. He was not afraid, but wary, in a hard, detached way. She noticed a string of dead squirrels hanging from his belt, and felt an absurd urge to laugh.

Daryl's mouth was dry as he watched her watching him. He was not confident he'd be able to match her speed if she decided to shoot him. He knew he was at an advantage at this range - he had a scope and he was a good enough shot to hit his target first time. A gun was harder to aim, but she was aiming it so confidently, all trace of her former weakness gone, that he wasn't completely sure of his odds. Her expression was unreadable for a few seconds, and then a curious kind of exhausted resignation stole over her face.

"Fuck it." She said announced and lowered her gun, her arm dropping limply to her side. Daryl blinked.

"Are you going to shoot me?" She asked in a quiet voice, watching his reaction.

Daryl lowered his crossbow, but not completely. He couldn't understand her- one second she was killing four men, the next, surrendering to a stranger.

Maybe it was simpler than that, though. Maybe she just _didn't care_, any more. He approached slowly.

Still watching him like a hawk, the woman said carefully, "I am sorry that you had to witness this." She gestured to the bodies behind her. She gave an uncertain, faltering smile, as if she'd forgotten how.

Daryl nodded, feeling awkward suddenly. He didn't feel so alarmed by the violence - he'd seen some pretty rough things, before and after the Turn. He _did_ think she was a little unhinged, obviously, but she'd had a pretty human reaction to committing an extreme act of violence, so he knew she wasn't a complete psycho. Yet, anyway. He was in no place to judge; he had no idea what she'd been through to become capable of this. In a way, he admired her resourcefulness and nerve; these trained soldiers hadn't stood a chance.

He wandered over to the tent, scanning the boxes and the back of the jeep. He made sure to keep some distance between them. "I know you did all the work, but do you mind if I grab some food?"

"Uh... sure," she said, sounding somewhat surprised, "There's um, quite a lot, so... help yourself."

He lowered his crossbow completely, avoiding her piercing eyes (which, he noted, were a blue-grey shade similar to his).

"I'm...er... Sarah." she said cautiously, still waiting for his reaction.

"... Daryl." He replied gruffly, and then fell silent, rummaging in one of the boxes.

Sarah was, again, the first to speak. "You followed me?" she asked him.

He nodded. "Since 'bout an hour back."

"Do you have a camp somewhere?" she asked next, her eyes falling to his string of squirrels.

He said nothing to that, but his guarded expression gave her the answer. She nodded again, "Don't worry." She said, with false cheer, "I'm through with groups. I've been with three..." she trailed off for a moment, and then continued with a visible effort, "Sooner or later, something happens. Something goes wrong... and I don't want to be the only one left again."

Daryl could understand that logic. But he also knew that her chances of survival, alone, were close to zero. It was a matter of time. With no one to cover her back, she was one mistake away from certain death, or starvation.

"How long've you been out here, alone?" he asked at last, curious.

"Only about three weeks now." She answered tonelessly, and then went over to her backpack, careful not to fully turn her back on him. She finished packing it with food from an open box, and then hoisted it onto her back with a grunt of effort.

She turned back. "Nice meeting you, I guess..." she said, with the ghost of a smile. Her eyes wandered to the woods.

"You're not takin' the car?" Daryl asked, surprised.

"Nah," she said, looking down, "I've got what I need. You take the rest back... for your people."

Daryl thought for a few moments, drumming his fingers on his crossbow. "I'll give you a lift?" he offered, "Drop you off on the main road?"

She hesitated, then nodded. Silently, they both loaded usable gear onto the jeep, then Daryl found the keys in the pocket of one of the bodies after a bit of grisly searching. They both got in the front, and Daryl drove off.

As they drove, Daryl stole a few glances over at her. He kept expecting her to say something, start babbling away like most women (in his limited experience) were apt to do, but she merely gazed out at the trees flashing past the window with a serious expression. He noticed there were marks on her arm: handprint-sized bruises where the man had grabbed her arm. Suddenly he wanted to break the silence.

"You're not American?"

"Nope." She answered, and glanced at him, "South African."

"South Africa?"

"Uh-huh. I was on vacation here when the world went to shit." She lapsed into silence again.

"Did you hear if it was happenin' there too, before the lines stopped workin'?" he asked.

"Last I heard," she replied, "My mom was complaining that they all had to report to a quarantine area." She shook her head, "I think I'm lucky, that I wasn't surrounded by family, friends... when everything happened. But I know, I _know_... they're dead. I'm just glad I didn't have to see it, you know?"

Daryl nodded.

Soon, they reached the main road. Daryl drove to a small group of buildings - just burnt-out grocery store and a couple of small shops - and Sarah spoke again.

"This'll do." She said. Daryl pulled over, and left the engine idling as she got out. There were no walkers visible in the area, at least.

Daryl didn't really know what to say. "...Y'sure about this?" he said, uncertain of exactly what he was offering. It was clear that the group at the farm had a strict no-admissions policy, and he wasn't exactly the charitable type, anyway.

But she shook her head. "I'll be fine." They both knew the truth; she wouldn't be fine. None of them would be, not for a long time. Especially if you were alone.

"I'll probably be around the area for a while." She said, more for something to say than for any particular reason.

"The Greene family's farm." Blurted Daryl, abruptly. "A few miles up the road there's a sign..."

She nodded. "Thanks, Daryl." She said, and walked away from the car. Daryl pulled away and left, watching her disappear into one of the buildings in his rear-view mirror, wondering... why on earth had he told her about the farm?


	5. Lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as you've probably noticed, the events of Daryl and Sarah's first meeting happened in the interval between the shooting of Sofia in the barn (the end of episode 7 of season 2) and the arrival of Randall on the farm (episode 10). This chapter's scene is pretty much straight from episode 9 of season two.
> 
> Note: this is not a Daryl/Carol fanfic, although they are close.

It was dark by the time Daryl got back to the farm. Driving up to the farmhouse slowly, his first thought was that the farm was too quiet.

Usually, people were still milling about their tents at this time, or doing patrols around the property - but he couldn't see anyone. There were lights on in the farmhouse, so he assumed that's where everyone was. Maggie, the farmer's daughter, (and not one of 'his people') was sitting in Dale's customary spot on the roof of the RV. And she was watching the road. When she saw the jeep she'd started up, not recognising the vehicle, but Daryl waved out of the window and she saw him and came down.

"You found a car?" she asked him, confusion plain on her face.

"Yeah." Said Daryl noncommittally. He wanted Rick to be the first one to hear about it. "It's a long story, but there's some supplies on the back and a tank full o'gas."

Maggie nodded, but seemed distracted.

"What's goin' on?" asked Daryl.

"My dad went missing- we think he took a drive into town." She explained.

"Why'd he do that?"

"Just - just everything that happened, you know... with the barn. He took it pretty hard."

"Yeah, well, we all did." Said Daryl bluntly. He was out of sympathy for these people. He thought about Sarah out on the road, by herself... Maybe she had it right, not having to deal with this shit. He leaned back against the jeep, stretching. "So I'm guessin' people went looking for him?"

"Glenn and Rick." Affirmed Maggie.

That explained why she was the one keeping a vigil out here - she and the Asian kid had some kind of thing going on.

"They should've been back by now, though." She said quietly, then headed back to the RV.

Daryl shook his head and headed for the house. He'd sort through the jeep tomorrow.

Inside, the others were setting the table for a meal. It seemed strange without Rick and Herschel's presence... like no one knew quite what to say. Except for Shane, of course, who'd installed himself at the head of the table and seemed to have promoted himself to the role of a 'benevolent leader'.

They all largely ignored his presence, except for Carol, who clucked about trying to get Daryl to eat with them. Daryl brushed her off. He was just there to pick up some food, planning to take it back to his camp on the other side of the farm, where he might finally get some peace and quiet.

Maggie came in and sat down at the table.

"Where's Lori?" asked Carol suddenly, having given up on Daryl. Everyone looked at each other in shock for a few moments.

"Well, shit." Daryl said, the first to break the silence. _I leave for one day and the whole group goes to hell?_ He shook his head contemptuously, grabbed a plate, and left the house for his camp. It wasn't his problem. He was sick of being used to find people. Huh, he'd been gone for an entire day, left on foot, and had come back driving a jeep... and no one had noticed.

The last he saw was Shane was running about, barking orders and reassurances in equal measure. Then he took off in one of the cars to look for Lori. Daryl didn't even want to start trying to figure out _that_ messed-up three-way between Rick, Shane and Lori. Shane was bad news, and it was clear this group was falling apart.

He wondered what was holding him there. What was stopping him, from just... leaving? Leaving them all behind. Carol came to mind unexpectedly, and Sofia. But the kid was dead, and Carol... he felt confused about Carol. He had tried so hard to find that little girl, he'd even convinced himself she was still out there. Hell, he'd even convinced Carol that there was still hope, and he'd been _so wrong_. Merle would have laughed his head off at the pathetic lengths Daryl had gone to for these people.

Now the group was splintering, running around after each other and their petty dramas. All they had to do was survive - he'd brought back the jeep loaded with everything they'd need if they wanted to leave. What the hell were they still doing hanging about on this stupid farm?

_"I've got what I need. You take it back... for your people"_ \- that's what Sarah had said. _Your people_. Were they 'his people'?

Unexpectedly, Carol emerged out of the trees. She was looking for him. _Damn woman was always hovering..._ He suddenly felt unreasonably angry at her.

"What're you doing?" he said brusquely, startling her.

"Keepin' an eye on you." She said. She was looking at him with those concerned eyes, as if she could see right through his bravado, to the very core of the turmoil in his heart.

Why did she care? What was she trying to prove? He didn't need her caring, didn't want her reassurances...

He started walking away, then suddenly turned back, and before he knew it, all the hurt and pain he'd been feeling just started pouring out. It poured out in a blistering wave of hurtful words... the most hurtful things he could think of to say to her. Anything to push her away, so that she would just _stop_.

He paused for breath, feeling adrenaline pounding through him. His words were getting to her, he could tell. Her eyes were wet with tears, but there was also a determination there that somehow enraged him further. He raged at her, almost violent; how she was a bad mother, and that's why Sofia was dead. How he didn't care... had never cared... should never have cared...

Why was she still standing there? Why didn't she just get the hint and _leave him alone_?

A small voice in the back of his mind asked, _Why did you reach out to a stranger, then? When you saw her crying without tears, alone in the blood and the dust in that clearing. You had your chance to leave. Why did you care what happened to her?_ He pushed that thought away. That woman had been in need of help... he was _just fine_... he would be just fine...

"You're not my problem!" he yelled, wishing she would stop caring. She had no business caring. She had no business liking him. He couldn't find her daughter, even after he'd promised he would. Sofia was dead - he'd failed them both. Carol _should_ hate him. "Sofia wasn't mine!", he yelled, as if to justify his failure. "Why didn't y'just keep an eye on her?"

His words hung on the air- he'd run out of things to say. The silence was full of tension, but she still stared at him with those eyes... those eyes that had taken blows before, and could handle it. Now Daryl had guilt to add to the list of feelings he didn't want or need.

"What happened out there, while you were gone?" she asked, her voice quiet, as if afraid he would start yelling again.

Daryl glared, hostile. "Yeah? Why d'you care?" his voice was raw, but whether from shouting or emotion, it was impossible to tell.

"I noticed you were gone." Said Carol simply, "And so did the others. We got worried-"

"Like hell you were." Snarled Daryl, "Old man goes AWOL for _five minutes_ and everyone runs about after him, same with Lori. Y'all wouldn't even _notice_ if I never came back."

Carol was shaking her head. "That's not-"

"It's true an' you know it. Only reason you're here at all is 'cause you got no one else." He said cruelly. She swallowed hard, but held her ground.

"D'you want to know where I've been all day?" he continued recklessly, "I met someone in the woods. She was out there all alone, and coping _just fine _-" in his mind's eye he saw her kneeling in the dust again... saw the empty expression in her eyes, "And I've taken to thinking maybe... that's the right way forward."

His voice had changed, had gotten a little quieter. He knew the seriousness of what he was proposing. His expression was caught between shame and a kind of lost defensiveness. Carol wondered whether he was just saying it in the heat of the moment, or if he really meant it.

She nodded, trying to hide her alarm at the prospect of him leaving, "We've all considered it at some point." She said quietly, unsure of what to say, "It's hard, living with people... But we still need each other. All of us."

He dropped his gaze, awkward again. "Hell, I'm tired of y'all..." at that last, his voice broke slightly. Unable to face her and her terrible, understanding eyes anymore, he turned his back on her and left.

Carol stood for a while, swaying slightly in the cold air. She'd never seen Daryl lose it like that... He was a good man, but he wasn't used to the idea of being important to someone else. Clearly, something had happened earlier that day that he was struggling to deal with. She wondered what had happened to the woman he'd met. As soon as he got hurt, he would withdraw and lash out, like a wounded, wild animal.

It may be true that she was latching onto him, now that Sofia was gone... but she couldn't help it. He had shown flashes of what she knew was his true self to her, and in those moments, he was someone stronger and _better_ than most in this rotten world. It was also obvious that Daryl _needed_ the group... He would lose himself without it.


End file.
